


I've Got Your Number

by exbex



Series: the Lew/Turnbull series [11]
Category: Californication (TV), due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex





	I've Got Your Number

The cute redhead working out in the gym area of the rec center is actually almost age-appropriate, so when she smiles at Lew and slips him her number, he smiles back and slips it into his pocket, pulling it out again as he walks home.  
His relationship with Turnbull had taken a turn for the monogamous about three months before Lew had walked out of a recording session and made his way to the Canadian Consulate in L.A., where he walked up to a statuesque Turnbull and slipped a hotel key and directions into his serge. “Get yourself transferred to some godforsaken hole in Canada already, because I am done with this shit.” He had paused, realizing how that had sounded. “I mean my career and this city, not you. Meet me at the hotel later; I am not setting foot back in that house.”  
Turnbull had later talked him out of setting fire to the place.  
**  
Instead of throwing the number away, Lew presents a blinking-in-disbelief Turnbull with a candlelight dinner and the slip the redhead had written her number on.  
Turnbull quirks an eyebrow. “This is neither your handwriting nor your number, Lew.”  
“No, they both belong to this hot, strawberry blonde.” Lew wastes no time in getting down on one knee. “I’ll rip it up in exchange for two rings, platinum…” Lew pauses, as this is Turnbull, after all. “No, titanium, because it’s mined here instead of South Africa and it’s stronger, and a marriage license.”  
Turnbull smiles softly. “I’ll have to think about it, Lew.”  
Lew blinks. “You just performed oral surgery on me without Novocain.”  
“Lew, I love you, but you can be rather impulsive.”  
Lew resists the temptation to pout, because Turnbull is right, after all. He gets back up, a bit stiffly, and sits down, and Turnbull reaches for his hand, gives it a squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
Lew squeezes back. “Me either.”  
**  
So as to avoid impulse, Lew considers, and tries to be patient as he waits for Turnbull’s answer. He thinks about the pretty red-haired woman, gets himself off thinking about her even, but it’s not something he craves, and he knows she wouldn’t do for him what Renny does, not by a longshot, and he knows that he stopped going elsewhere because of that reality, three months before they moved to Canada.  
Still, he finds it nearly impossible to say any of this to Renfield.  
**  
He’s just finished fixing the kitchen sink, and he’s admiring this small victory, when Turnbull slips in late one evening. He has his hands in his pockets, and he’s tired but not exhausted; Lew can tell by his eyes and the way that his posture is still impeccable, even at this late hour. Lew finishes washing his hands and puts his arms around Renfield, inhaling the scent that is uniquely him. “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way.” He pulls away, letting his hands remain in the small of Renny’s back. He knows Renny will recognize the stanza (Lew did find it in one of Renny’s collections, after all), and he hopes that Ren will know that he uses someone else’s words because he can’t find his own.  
“Really, Lew?” Turnbull’s eyes are searching him, threatening to pick him apart. It’s a fair question; Lew has never said it so explicitly, and Ren has never demanded, never asked for much of anything.  
“I love you Renfield Turnbull. You saved my life, and I love you.”  
Renny drops to his knees and takes Lew’s hand. “Marry me,” he says simply. Lew drops to face him. “Are you trying to one-up me?” he asks, though he can’t keep the grin from splitting across his face.  
“I’m just trying to be fair,” Turnbull replies with a grin of his own. “So, will you?”  
“Yeah, if you’re willing to settle.”  
Lew can hear the pipe he just fixed coming apart behind him, but he can’t be arsed to care as Turnbull throws his arms around him and kisses him like he hasn’t just sentenced himself to at least another twenty years with a crazy, aging ex-heroin addict, because Lew is, without a doubt, the luckiest bastard to have ever lived.


End file.
